


I Was Made To Love You, Darling

by EvensDramaticShenanigans



Series: Happy Steve Bingo Fills 2018 [5]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: 1930s, 1940s, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, First Kiss, Fist Fights, Happy Steve Bingo, M/M, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Pre-War, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Soulmates, because steve just can't stop from punching out the bullys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-21
Updated: 2018-09-21
Packaged: 2019-07-15 06:29:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16057454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EvensDramaticShenanigans/pseuds/EvensDramaticShenanigans
Summary: The handprint is stark against Steve’s pale, almost translucent skin. It’s big, too, all five fingerprints wrapping around the entirety of his thin upper arm. Steve twists in front of the grimy mirror, holding his arm out at an awkward angle. He bites down on his lower lip and lifts a hand to carefully brush his long fingers over the black smudges.His skin is buzzing, but it’s not from the marks. Nothing has happened with them since he woke up, there are no new colors dancing across his skin where they were, and he doesn’t expect there to be. Steve doesn’t know if he ever expects there to be, which is part of why he’s buzzing. Too much nervous energy coursing through his veins. He may have finally reached eighteen, but that doesn’t guarantee that he’ll ever actually find his soulmate. Or that he even has one.





	I Was Made To Love You, Darling

**Author's Note:**

> Hey hey heyyy!!! Bingo fill numba fiiiiiiiiiveeeee!! “Soulmates” is the prompt square being filled with this one! I swear I spent so long looking for the perfect idea for this prompt and I finally found the idea of black stains that turn colorful when your soulmate first touches you and I saw “people who have black knuckles who are scared for years that they end up punching their soulmate or something and end up coming home with their knuckles turned all shades of red and blue and purple without them noticing because sometimes your hands just brush together” and “a handprint on your upper arm that bursts into colors during a fight you’re having with a close friend because you tried to walk away and they grabbed you–you never noticed that you never touched them until right now” attached to it and they both screamed stucky to me so I decided to try to combine them sort of and, thus, this fic was born!
> 
> This is unbetaed, as usual lol. All mistakes are mine!
> 
> Also, sidenote: I know The Wizard of Oz didn’t come out until August of 1939 but for the sake of this fic it came out in the beginning of July lol
> 
> Title comes from [Nothing Wrong](https://open.spotify.com/track/46P2XJGfNHABhxCbpfG9zf?si=mrNELz41S2mfg0tWzKO2Gg) by Brighton, I couldn’t find a video of the song anywhere on YouTube so I linked to Spotify. But this song is so fucking Stucky and some of the lyrics fit this fic so well so I thought it was perfect for the title.
> 
>  
> 
> Hope you all like this! :)

The handprint is stark against Steve’s pale, almost translucent skin. It’s big, too, all five fingerprints wrapping around the entirety of his thin upper arm. Steve twists in front of the grimy mirror, holding his arm out at an awkward angle. He bites down on his lower lip and lifts a hand to carefully brush his long fingers over the black smudges. 

His skin is buzzing, but it’s not from the marks. Nothing has happened with them since he woke up, there are no new colors dancing across his skin where they were, and he doesn’t expect there to be. Steve doesn’t know if he ever expects there to be, which is part of why he’s buzzing. Too much nervous energy coursing through his veins. He may have finally reached eighteen, but that doesn’t guarantee that he’ll ever actually find his soulmate. Or that he even has one. 

Steve’s often found himself questioning if he has one, that perfect match he’s destined to be with forever. Supposedly, there’s someone out there for everyone. Someone who will understand him, support him, and love him with everything they’ve got. Steve likes the idea— who wouldn’t?— but he can’t fathom ever finding someone who could captivate him more than Bucky does. And it wouldn’t be fair to them to spend their whole life competing with their soulmate’s best friend. Surely the universe wouldn’t put someone through that. It’s why Steve sometimes thinks it would just be better if he didn’t have one. 

It’s not entirely fair to Bucky either, if Steve’s being honest with himself. Ever since Bucky turned eighteen over a year ago he’s constantly been on the lookout for his soulmate. He started going out more, as if hoping that one of the many pretty dames he twirled across the dance floor could be the one; Steve started fearing the sound of the door opening in the evenings. No matter how hard he tried he couldn’t shake the fear that the next time the lock clicked into place it would follow with Bucky cheering about finally finding his soulmate. Bucky deserves to be happy with his soulmate. He doesn’t need his pathetic, asthmatic, clingy best friend selfishly holding him back from that happiness. 

A soft sigh falls from Steve’s lips and he lets go of his arm so he can brush his bangs from his eyes. Then he settles both palms against his ribs, where they stick out too much. But before he can start dissecting how unfair if would be for his soulmate to have to deal with his perpetual feistiness, his too large sense of justice, and his frail, sickly body, a knock at the door pulls him out of his thoughts. 

“You up, Stevie?” Bucky calls from the other side before tapping the door again.

“Uh, yeah, I’m up,” Steve responds, quickly grabbing his shirt off of the chair near the mirror. He stuffs his arms into the long sleeves before rolling them up, and as he’s doing up the buttons the door flies open.

“Hey,” Bucky says, and Steve is too busy tucking his shirt in to see the way Bucky’s eyes flit over his body before settling on his face. “Happy birthday, punk,” he grins from where he leans against the door frame. 

Steve snaps his suspenders into place and turns to face Bucky. “Thanks, jerk,” he replies, a warm smile on his face. 

“You almost done gettin’ ready? We’re gonna go catch a flick today,” Bucky announces, a proud expression on his face.

“What?” Steve asks, his eyes going wide. “Buck, you… I… I appreciate that, really, I do. But we gotta use that money for rent, and food, and—”

“Ah, shut up, Stevie,” Bucky interrupts good-naturedly. “I’ve been puttin’ aside some of the money I’ve been makin’ at the docks for the last few weeks. Nothing’s comin’ out of the rent money, don’t you worry. It’s my gift to you.”

Steve’s eyebrows slowly unknit and the rest of his face relaxes as a tender expression settles over his features, a warm smile tugging at his lips. “Well thank you, Buck,” he says sweetly. “I really appreciate it.”

Bucky looks surprised for a moment, and Steve has to hold back a snort at that. He’s probably wondering why Steve isn’t still arguing like the stubborn little shit he usually is. And normally Steve  _ would _ still be arguing it, trying to talk Bucky out of it. He would list off all the reasons that it’s a bad idea, explain how they shouldn’t just throw their money away on something silly like a movie. Movies are luxuries that they just can’t afford these days. But, Steve feels like indulging a little. It is his birthday, after all. And if one of the reasons why he’s not fighting tooth and nail about this is because it means he gets to spend some quality time with Bucky, just the two of them, then sue him.

“Alright, good,” Bucky says decidedly, nodding his head. He looks pleased with the outcome, and Steve can’t stop the happy, bubbly feeling from flooding through him. Bucky lifts his arm and drops his eyes down to the watch that sits on his wrist. It was a gift from his parents when he turned eighteen; one of his dad’s old watches. The face is cracked now, but it works all the same. “Come on, now, let’s get a move on it before the flick starts. Wouldn’t wanna miss it.”

 

The local movie theater isn’t very far from Steve and Bucky’s apartment complex, and the walk there is pleasant. When they reach the theater they wait in the short line for their tickets. Bucky slides over two shiny quarters and receives their stubs for  _ The Wizard of Oz _ from the clerk. 

“What do you think about that row?” Bucky asks, pointing to the fourth one back. It’s decently empty and it’s neither too close nor too far from the big screen.

“Perfect,” Steve answers, and the two of them shuffle towards the row.

As they settle into their seats, Bucky turns to Steve. “Hey, I’m gonna go get us some popcorn. Want anything else? Milk duds? Jujubes? A coca-cola?”

Steve shakes his head and frowns slightly at Bucky. “Bucky,” he presses. “You really don’t have to get anything else. M’fine,” he insists. 

Bucky just rolls his eyes and makes to stand. “Quit complainin’ and lemme buy you some candy,” he grins.

“Fine, but I really only just want the popcorn,” Steve replies. 

“Okay, okay, one popcorn comin’ right up, birthday boy,” Bucky says before running off to the lobby.

Steve glances around the rest of the theater, scanning through his fellow movie-goers. There’s a trio of giggly teenage girls towards the front, their hair in perfect ringlets that bounce against their shoulders as they laugh. An elderly couple sits a few rows behind Steve, holding hands over the armrest. There’s a mother, father, and their two children all smiling as they pass around the popcorn. And in the row directly in front of Steve there’s a man and a woman— a couple from the looks of it. 

Steve briefly wonders if they’re soulmates. If maybe the palms of their hands are painted with a rainbow of watercolors from their first handshake, or maybe there’s a colorful outline of a handprint on her waist and a matching one on his shoulder from their first dance together. They look sweet together, Steve notes. She’s leaning into his side, and he’s got his arm hanging loosely around her neck. Their heads are bent together, and they’re speaking in hushed tones. The woman has a shy smile pulling at her red lips. Steve imagines they’re talking about their status as soulmates, maybe planning their future together, or reveling in what perhaps is a brand new soulmate revelation.

The movie theater is a nice place to celebrate that kind of thing, Steve thinks. He can only imagine coming here with his own soulmate, curling up in the seats together like this couple is, sharing lovesick glances and holding hands like the elderly pair a few rows back. Steve feels a little guilty that as he pictures it, he can’t picture anyone but Bucky filling in the role of his soulmate. It’s hard not to want what couple, like the one in front of him, have with Bucky. 

Except then the woman suddenly squeaks and jerks away from the man’s touch, shoving his arm off of her shoulders. “George,  _ stop _ !” She exclaims indignantly, a shocked expression coloring her features. Her doe eyes are wide, completely taken aback by the man trying to cop a feel. 

Definitely not soulmates. 

“Aw, come on, babydoll, don’t be like that,” the man— George, tries to say, holding his arm out towards the woman. He’s wearing an entirely too casual expression, a sick faux charming smile on his mouth. “It’s dark in here, no one’s gonna see us,” he jeers lewdly, then has the audacity to wiggle his fingers at the woman. “Lemme feel whatcha hidin’ under that blouse, sweetheart.”

Steve’s blood boils.

The woman looks horrified, and frankly, so is Steve. He can’t stand to see this go on any longer, so he leans forward in his seat and not so gently jabs the guy on the shoulder. 

“Hey, pal,” he spits, entirely unfriendly. “I think the lady said stop.” 

George turns in his seat, and that lecherous grin melts into a steely glare. “Hey,” George spits back in a mocking tone. “Nobody asked you, shrimp. Mind your own damn business.”

“I’ll mind my business when you mind yours,” Steve retorts, narrowing his eyes in a way that meant he wasn’t backing down any time soon. He puffs his chest out and tips his chin down, hoping that it helps him come off as intimidating. He knows with his size it’s hard, but he’ll be damned if he doesn’t try. “The lady said stop,” he repeats in a no nonsense tone. “You’d better leave her alone.”

Said lady sends Steve a thankful look from where she’s moved one seat away from George. 

“Oh, yeah? And what if I don’t? What are you gonna do about it?” George snaps. “Huh, shrimp?” 

  
  


George is bigger than Steve— they always are— but that’s never stopped Steve before, and it’s certainly not going to stop him now. It actually works in his favor this time, though. George doesn’t have the same finesse to his swings as Steve, which means his punches aren’t calculated. He’s just throwing fists and hoping they connect— which they do. Steve’s been knocked down twice already, and the guy managed to get in a pretty hard jab to his stomach; but unlike other fights Steve’s been in, he actually gets a few cuffs of his own in this time. There was one blow in particular, right to George’s big nose, that Steve is especially proud of. It hurt like a bitch, but it made him bleed. And seeing the blood drip from his nose fills Steve with a newfound confidence. 

Just as he’s rearing his fist back, getting ready to deliver another blow to a still off guard opponent, a hand suddenly closes tightly around his upper right arm, effectively halting his motions and pulling him back enough to have him lose his footing and stumble. 

“Dammit, Steve. I leave you alone for five minutes!” A slightly exasperated Bucky is calling out, with a sigh.

Steve jerks his arm out of Bucky’s grip, the sleeve of his shirt falling from where it was neatly folded, and he rolls his shoulders back, lifting both of his fists again.“Fuck off, Buck, I got this,” Steve hisses. Bucky screwed up his surprise attack, and George has recovered enough from the hit to his nose to round on Steve again. Steve’s not going to let that phase him, though.

But, of course, the second George steps even a fraction of an inch closer to Steve, arms raised and ready to deliver a punch, Bucky cuts Steve off, bodily shoving him back, and catches the man’s first in his own. He twists his arm, not enough to injure him, but enough to make it hurt. George cries out in pain, and the fight leaves his body as he surrenders to Bucky.

“I think you were just gettin’ lost, right pal?” Bucky grits out.

The man whimpers and nods, and as soon as Bucky relinquishes his grip, George is scrambling out of the alley. 

Steve presses his lips together and brings his hand up to wipe at his nose. A little bit of the blood smears onto his sleeve as he does so. When he finally lifts his eyes to Bucky, Bucky’s already looking back with an unimpressed expression on his face. Steve rolls his eyes. He’s annoyed, as he often is when Bucky butts in like this. Steve may be getting himself into trouble, but he likes to think it’s worth it if it means he’s helping someone. And not to mention, it’s  _ his _ trouble; he can hold his own, and he doesn’t appreciate being rescued like a damsel in distress.. He’s neither a damsel, nor in distress. He tells Bucky so.

“No, you ain’t no damsel, but you looked pretty damn in distress to me, Steve,” Bucky responds. He manages to hold his stony expression for about half a second longer before it melts away completely. “Couldn’t even keep from startin’ a fight on your birthday, couldja, Stevie?” He chuckles lightly. “Guess we’ll hafta catch the flick some other time. Gotta get you cleaned up. You’re bleedin’ all over your shirt,” he chides, clicking his tongue at Steve.

Steve drops his gaze down to the front of his shirt which— as Bucky pointed out— is already stained with dark red. Then there’s blood on his sleeve. Steve winces and curses under his breath. That’s going to take a helluva lot of elbow grease to try and get out.

The two of them start to walk towards the mouth of the alley to leave, and Bucky drops an arm heavily around Steve’s shoulders and pulls him in real close. Close enough that Steve can smell the cologne on his skin. Bucky only ever wears it on special occasions—  says it costs too much to wear all the time. It makes something pull tight in Steve’s chest, that Bucky thought this enough of a special occasion to crack out his cologne. It makes him feel kind of guilty, too, for ruining their plans. He didn’t mean for Bucky to waste perfectly good cologne, or money either.

“I’ll be alright, Buck. Let’s just go watch the film. You already paid for it,” Steve tries to argue.

But Bucky shakes his head. “Nice try, punk,” he replies simply, laughing again. “I dunno if they’d let us back in, with you lookin’ like that, anyways,” he adds, bumping his hip against Steve’s. 

 

The walk back go their apartment isn’t too far, and Steve’s not limping as bad as he usually is, so it doesn’t take as long as normal. When they finally make it back to their apartment, Bucky unlocks the door and shoves Steve inside.

“Kitchen, now,” Bucky commands. “Wait there while I get the hydrogen peroxide and bandages.” He doesn’t bother waiting to see if Steve listens, just disappears down the hall. 

Steve sighs, but he does as he’s told. He kicks off his shoes near the door and ambles into the kitchen where he sits himself down on one of the chairs to wait for Bucky to return with the medical kit. As he waits he wonders why they haven’t started keeping the medical kit in the kitchen; after all, this scenario isn’t exactly uncommon, and it would probably save a lot of time and energy if they just kept it in the kitchen rather than the bathroom. 

Bucky walks into the kitchen a few minutes later with the medical kit in hand. He sets it on their rickety wooden table and pulls up a chair in front of Steve’s. “Alright, punk, let’s see what the damage is this time,” he says, turning his attention onto the cuts and bruises forming on Steve’s face. 

It doesn’t take Bucky very long to patch up the cut on his cheekbone, or the one above his eyebrow. He’s well practiced in the art of fixing Steve up, and by now, has it down to a science. By the time he finishes with those, Steve’s managed to stop his nose from bleeding any further. 

Steve sets the damp, bloodied rag to the side and let’s Bucky prod at his nose a bit to make sure it isn’t broken. It’s not, thank god, and Bucky takes his time gently cleaning the crusted blood from it. Steve winces a few times— his nose may not be broken, but it still hurts. 

“I don’t get why you keep doin’ this to yourself,” Bucky says as he drags the cloth underneath Steve’s nostrils. 

Steve rolls his eyes. “We’ve been over this before, Buck. I’m not gonna sit there quietly while someone else gets mistreated. It ain’t right.” 

Bucky nods, and his eyes are soft when they meet Steve’s. “I know,” he says, dropping a hand down to rest against Steve’s leg. “You’re a real swell guy, Steve. You’re gonna make your soulmate real happy one day,” he adds, squeezing Steve’s knee.  There’s a flash of something… something almost  _ sad _ in his eyes, but it’s gone as quickly as it appeared, so Steve doesn’t think much of it. 

“Thanks, Buck,” Steve replies, smiling sweetly at his best friend.

“Now,” Bucky starts, patting Steve’s knee, “get up and get outta that shirt so I can start tryin’ to wash those stains out.”

Steve nods and slides out of the chair, his fingers coming up to the front of his shirt to start swiftly undoing the buttons.His fingers move quickly and once the last button is popped, Steve lets the fabric fall off of his shoulders and slip down his arms. 

“I dunno if I’ll be able to salvage it,” Bucky continues, taking the bloodied rag to the sink before turning back towards Steve, “but I’ll sure as hell…  _ oh _ .” 

Steve’s hands stop around his attempt to fold his shirt, and his head snaps up, eyes landing worriedly on Bucky. There’s an odd look on his face… a  _ surprised _ look, as if he can’t quite believe what he’s seeing. His mouth is slightly agape too, eyes wider than usual. “Bucky?” Steve asks. “What’s wrong?” 

Bucky doesn’t say anything back at first, still too enthralled by whatever it is that happened to catch his attention, Steve’s still not quite sure. But then Bucky takes a small step towards Steve, and his right hand raises then stops, as if he’s going to reach out and touch but thinks better of it. 

Steve’s brows furrow, but he follows Bucky’s line of sight down to… his right arm. Where his marks are on display. His  _ colored _ marks. Steve’s breath catches in his throat at the sight. It’s… it’s  _ beautiful _ , is what it is. Gone are the dark black smudges. Instead pale pinks and soft greens and vibrant purples, yellows, and blues fill in those spaces. “Oh my god,” he whispers, his voice a mixture of disbelief and awe. 

When the hell did that happen? He’d barely been touched all day, only—  _ oh _ .  _ Oh no _ . The awe and excitement suddenly freezes in his veins as the distinct memory of George knocking him to the ground and then grabbing his arm to yank him back up flashes through his memory. Steve’s stomach twists. There’s  _ no way _ that George is his soulmate. Could this be the universe’s way of making him pay for all those times he wished he was soulmateless? Steve’s left arm chooses that moment to throb, and the fear seizing his body dissipates as he realizes that George had grabbed his  _ left _ arm, not his right. Which means that—  _ oh. Oh _ .

“Bucky,” Steve says, the first words spoken between them since discovering Steve’s marks. “Buck, can I see your hand?” 

Bucky pulls his attention from Steve’s marks to train his eyes on Steve’s. He looks confused at the request, not quite having put two and two together yet, but he lifts his right hand and holds it out for Steve anyways. 

Steve shakes his head. “No, the other one,” he says.

This time Bucky holds out his left hand with his palm facing down. It’s then that it all seems to click in Bucky’s brain, and he stills for a second, an audible gasp falling from his lips. His eyes flicker from his hand up to Steve’s, and Steve bites down on his lip and nods. 

Bucky hesitantly lifts his hand. Neither he nor Steve not look at his fingertips, lest it be too good to be true. Slowly, Bucky places his hand over the marks, laying one fingertip down at a time against each fingerprint on Steve’s skin. The moment his hand closes over the mark, it’s like something clicks between them. It matches perfectly. 

Steve’s barely breathing. His heart is racing a mile a minute, which can’t be very healthy for him, but he doesn’t care. Not now. Not when everything he’s ever dreamed about and hoped for is finally, actually coming true.

When Bucky removes his hand from Steve’s arm he flips it around, and when his eyes drop down to see the gorgeous array of colors blooming and dancing across his skin he lets out a breath. They’re bright and beautiful and they match the very same one’s on Steve’s arm.

A giddy laugh falls from Bucky’s lips, and an uncontainable grin spreads across Steve’s cheeks. Their eyes meet and there’s a mix of relief and excitement and astonishment shimming there, every possible emotion bubbling up to the surface.  

“I…  _ Stevie _ ,” Bucky breathes. “I can’t believe it’s actually you,” he says. “I… I hoped, but I never let myself believe it would actually be possible.” He sounds so awestruck.

Steve  _ feels _ so awestruck. “You… you wanted this?” He asks, unable to stop the question from coming out. “You wanted  _ me _ ?” 

Bucky nods and his lips curve into the most sincere smile ever. Steve wants to kiss it right off his face. “I’ve wanted this for as long as I can remember,” he admits in earnest. 

“So have I,” Steve replies, and he almost can’t believe that this is all real. He’s half prepared to bolt upright in his bed any second now and realize that this has all been some fever dream. But it’s  _ not _ . It’s real, and it’s actually happening, and Bucky is his  _ soulmate _ . 

Bucky shifts into Steve’s space and brings a hand up to brush a few strands of hair from Steve’s eyes before resting his palm— the colored one— against Steve’s cheek. “You’re it for me, doll. Always have been.”

And then Bucky’s pulling Steve’s body flush against his and crushing his lips to Steve’s in the best kiss that Steve’s ever had. Bucky kisses exactly how Steve imagined he would: with everything he’s got. Bucky’s never been one to half ass his tasks, and it sure shows as he kisses Steve within what feels like inches of his life. It’s breathtaking and exhilarating, and it feels like coming home. Like they were two puzzle pieces, finally clicking into place to complete the whole image.

Eventually, they have to pull apart because their smiles keep getting in the way of their kiss. 

Steve loops his arms around Bucky’s waist and leans his forehead against Bucky’s. Their noses bump, and they laugh. Bucky steals another quick kiss. 

“This is a much better birthday gift than a movie,” Steve comments cheekily.

Bucky snorts. “Well I’m glad I could getcha everything you’ve ever wanted,” he says. 

“Now, shut up and kiss me again. We’ve got a whole lotta lost time to make up for,” Steve says.

Bucky grins, already pulling Steve back in. “And a whole lifetime to do it.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Let me know what you think with a kudos and a comment!
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> Come say [hi](http://brooklynbabybucky.tumblr.com/)!
> 
> And come check out this cool [discord](https://discordapp.com/invite/8gybKrj) for marvel content creators! You can find more information @marvelcreatorsnetwork on tumblr or feel free to ask about it in the comments!


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